‘My parents had already named their eldest son John, so they couldn’t very well.’
‘I like Matthew better anyway,’ Jonah said around another trail of smoke. Matthew hid a small smile against Jonah’s chest.
‘I’ve always had something of a fascination with the Baptist because of it,’ he continued. ‘So I sought out, that day, what books the library had on him. And I saw something remarkable in one that I found. It was a photograph of a painting in Rome—John in the Wilderness by an Italian called Caravaggio. I’d never seen such an image. He was painted like female nudes are usually painted. It was … erotic.’
‘He’s Christ’s cousin, isn’t he?’ asked Jonah.
‘Well, yes. According to the Gospel of Luke.’
‘And you found him erotic?’
‘It really is quite an extraordinary painting, Jonah. It must be brilliant in real life, in colour. His hands and his neck are darker than the rest of him, like it is for many people when they take their clothes off. It shows you quite starkly that, whoever the young man is in this painting, he was a real person and he’d had to undress for the artist. For those of us looking at him. And he’s strong. His arms and his legs, his fingers, he’s a powerful young man. I felt … naughty for looking at him. And I, well. I had to remain steadfastly seated for some time, out of raging embarrassment.’
Jonah shifted his head slightly so as to peer at Matthew with a narrowed glance. ‘You cracked a fat over John the Baptist?’ A laugh barked out of him. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, that is. No wonder you took to religion!’
‘Don’t mock!’
‘Laughter of delight, I swear, not mocking.’ Jonah tightened the arm he had slung about Matthew, reeling him in and pressing a quick kiss to his temple. ‘I’m glad ya took to religion, no matter how it happened.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s what brought ya here.’
Matthew was stunned by the fondness implicit in the simple statement, the implied gratefulness for his presence.
‘Such things you say, Jonah.’
‘What of ‘em?’ Jonah sat up in bed, taking care of his finished rollie. ‘Shit, I should probably get going.’ He pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, stretching his arms and torso before standing.
What of his words, indeed? Matthew chose to remain quiet.
Once again, he watched Jonah dressing. When fully clothed—helmet and all—Jonah leaned over the bed and over Matthew. There was still the music of falling rain reaching them from beyond the walls.
‘It’s raining,’ Matthew said, looking up into Jonah’s eyes.
‘Just water falling outta the sky.’ Jonah winked, and pressed their mouths together briefly. ‘Tuesday night work for you?’
‘Are we turning this into a habit?’
‘Don’t see why not.’
‘Do you really feel so little impediment?’
Jonah frowned. ‘So little impediment? Everything, Matthew, we’re both risking absolutely bloody everything for this. I’d hardly call that “little impediment”!’
‘And you think my company is worth such risk?’
‘Fuckin’ oath, I do. And you’d better decide quick-smart whether ya reckon I’m worth it, as well. Or else we should stop it all, right here.’
Matthew’s throat constricted at the mere suggestion. ‘Tuesday, then.’
Jonah’s frown disappeared. ‘No hesitation?’
‘No hesitation.’
Jonah leaned closer to him and kissed him once more, his mouth lingering a little longer than before. He sucked at Matthew’s bottom lip before pulling back slowly, then straightened and strode out of the rectory without a backwards glance.
***
Outwardly, it was easy enough for Matthew to keep up the illusion of observing Lent. There was only a week left before Palm Sunday and the beginning of Holy Week. It was a short period of time in which to ensure no one saw him drinking or acting outrageously.
In private though, the story was different. He had ceased his daily devotionals. He had taken a little whisky. He had taken to sex. He had taken a man into his bed. And yet … no lightning bolts, no smiting.
‘I performed Mass with the smell of you still on my body Sunday morning,’ he told Jonah Tuesday evening, while sweat and semen dried upon them both. ‘Yet, somehow, I did not feel tainted or impious. On the contrary, I felt full of strength and love and rightness. One of my congregants even cried tears of joy.’
‘Vi Sutherland?’ Jonah asked.
‘Yes, Missus Sutherland. How did you know?’
‘She’s one of the few people I’ve ever known who probably cries more when she’s happy than when she’s sad. Natural consequence of a stiff upper lip, I reckon. Tears’ve gotta come out some way or another.’
‘Hm. Or perhaps your aroma is reminiscent of the late Mister Sutherland? And when I came near to offer the Communion cup—’
‘—she was overwhelmed with memories of that heartless prick that used to knock her around?’
Matthew hmph’ed. ‘Well. I never knew Mister Sutherland.’ He sighed. ‘How can it all be though? That I can still fulfil these duties, that I can move a congregation with my words when I’m miring myself in sin on a now regular basis?’
‘Miring? Is that what yer doing with me?’
‘I mean no offence, Jonah. But you know what I’m trying to say. How am I escaping divine retribution here?’
Jonah rolled onto his front and scooped up his tobacco and rolling papers from the bedside. ‘Here’s a thought,’ he ventured, as he began to roll a cigarette. ‘Perhaps it’s all just bullshit.’
‘Don’t mock.’
‘Yer always accusing me of mocking and I never am!’
Matthew pursed his lips. ‘I’ve devoted my life to this bullshit, as you call it.’
‘Lemme put it another way, then.’ Jonah ran his tongue along the edge of a rolling paper. ‘Why is it that Christians seem so upset about a bloke being with another bloke?’
‘You are surely jesting if you don’t know the answer to that!’
‘Am I? So what is the answer, then?’
‘The Bible calls it an abomination!’
‘Ah!’ Jonah lit his rollie and shook out the match. ‘But here’s my argument. I asked why Christians, followers of Jesus Christ, get upset about it.’
‘I don’t think I’m following you …’
Jonah sat up and leaned his back against the footboard of the bed. ‘The abomination bit is in the Old Testament. Yes?’
Matthew nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Well then. In the New Testament, Jesus sets a whole New Covenant, doesn’t he?’ Jonah dragged on his rollie and watched Matthew through the resultant smoke. ‘There’s even that bit in the Gospels where he pretty much redesigns the friggin’ Ten Commandants, of all things—gets rid of the duff ones and just keeps the important bits about not murdering or stealing and all that, the stuff that no one in their right mind could argue with. The one about donkeys though? Out. The one about there only being one bloody God in the whole of the world? Gone. Basically the way I see it, Jesus, top bloke that he is, edits out all the stupid shit and goes “Here ya go, youse can eat yabbies again, people, this is the modern world after all”. But for some reason, and this is what really confuses me, Matthew, Christianity doesn’t seem to have got it. At least, it seems to cherrypick what it does and doesn’t wanna listen to when Jesus is talking. Yabbies? Yay! Bacon, you bewdy! Let’s grow some spuds next to our peas! It’s all the old covenant, don’t hafta worry ‘bout it no more! But that bit about laying with mankind as with womankind—nevermind, for the moment, that that’s bloody impossible anyway ’cos you’ve got different bits? Ooh nah, better not listen to what Jesus has to say on that one.’
‘He, he doesn’t have anything to say about that one,’ Matthew stammered, a little stunned by Jonah’s enthusiastic tirade.
‘Exactly! He never even mentions it! Jesus never says one fucking
thing about loving someone of the same sex. Not a peep. He clearly doesn’t consider it anything worth noting. So why is it, then, that the Church clings so viciously—and it is bloody vicious, Matthew, make no mistake—to this one fucking thing that harms no one so long as the people doing it are consenting to it?’
Matthew could only blink and shake his head. ‘That’s … That’s quite an argument, Jonah.’
Jonah grinned around the rollie sticking out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ve been ruminating.’
‘Clearly! Goodness. How did you come to all this?’
‘Did a lot of reading.’
Matthew quirked an eyebrow. ‘Of?’
‘The Bible.’
‘You’ve been reading the Bible?’
‘Read it.’
Matthew felt a smile starting. ‘You read the Bible? The whole thing?’
‘Cover to cover!’ Jonah grinned some more.
‘When did that happen?’
‘Last coupla months. Started the same week as the fire. You’d be surprised how boring my job can be a lot of the time. And there’s only so many re-reads you can give the Police Gazette before you’re looking ‘round for something else to read. Every cop shop’s got a King James Bible so …’ He punctuated the trailing off of his sentence with a shrug.
‘Dare I ask you why?’
‘So’s I’d be able to hold me own in conversations like this with you, of course.’
‘You are astounding.’
‘Why, thank you.’ Wink.
***
The last Friday before Holy Week brought torrential autumn rains and Jonah was soaked upon arrival at the rectory. They draped his uniform over chairs in front of the fire and very nearly didn’t make it into the bedroom before rutting. But Matthew had something he wanted to try and so steeled his resolve and moved them, dragging Jonah by the hand and pushing him down to the bed.
Jonah cupped his hands about Matthew’s face, dragged his lips heatedly over Matthew’s mouth, and looked up at him with a vague air of challenge. ‘Anything you want, Matthew. I mean it. Anything you wanna do.’ He lifted his head and pressed a hot kiss into the corner of Matthew’s mouth. ‘I can take it.’ His voice dropped to a dark whisper. ‘Come on.’
Matthew’s mind swam with the possibilities, with the permission. He had little reference, fewer words, for the intimate experiments he would like to try, but he did have his thoughts and Jonah’s previous demonstrations. Having Jonah underneath him, naked and pliant and oh good gracious so encouraging, lent him boldness, and he slid a little further down the bed, letting their bodies drag languorously together as he went.
He opened his mouth over a hipbone and sucked it, enjoying the intake of breath he heard and the way Jonah’s fingers moved through his hair, pressing at the back of his head. From his hipbone, it was a short journey to the crease where thigh met torso. The way Jonah swore under his breath when Matthew tongued at him there was intoxicating.
‘Do that on my cock.’ Whispered down to him, almost starting as a question, a request, but quickly becoming an order. The hitch in Jonah’s voice caused Matthew’s mouth to curve up into a grin against the smooth flesh of inner thigh he was pressed to. He moved his head the scant required inches and carried out the order, poking the dart of his tongue haphazardly onto the tip of Jonah’s cock, not sure exactly where to apply pressure. The answering gruff moan and motion of Jonah’s legs spreading beneath him told him he’d done at least something right.
Matthew opened his mouth and let desire take him over. He recalled what motions Jonah had used when performing the act upon him and began an intimate replication. He lost himself a short while in heightened senses and the reality of Jonah’s body, in the feel of him against his tongue, the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat. How could he find enjoyment in such an act? Perhaps Jonah was the key. Maybe with anyone else the act would pale, might seem tawdry and perverse. He opened his eyes and trailed his gaze upward. But with Jonah …
O, Lord. How beautiful he looked, long body tense and tactile, with arms thrown over his head and jaw loose with moaning. The languid way he twisted his hips, thrusting up into Matthew’s mouth because he wanted to but then stilling because he felt he should. His hipbones slid against Matthew’s palms cupped over them and Matthew’s mouth just full of him. Full of him.
Jonah’s legs fell open wider and Matthew took advantage, moving his mouth down to the balls and a short distance beyond. Jonah brought his hands to Matthew’s head and fingers curled into his hair as he worked, the litany of Jonah’s cursing spurring him on.
‘Holy fuck,’ Jonah sighed out before rearing up to a sitting position. In one magnificent show of strength, he hauled Matthew up the bed and onto his back. He gazed hotly down at Matthew as he laid himself on top of him, aligning their wet erections and pressing their hips together.
‘You gonna sing hymns with that tongue in the morning, Father?’
Matthew grabbed at Jonah’s arse as the two of them began to grind steadily against one another. ‘It is good for all manner of activities,’ Matthew replied with a smile.
Jonah’s smile in response was a thing of true beauty, full of playfulness and surprise at Matthew’s boldness. When he paused a moment in their rutting to slide one finger into the heart of that smile, Matthew could only wonder what was to happen next. Jonah didn’t leave him wondering long, removing the finger from his mouth and immediately putting his hand beneath Matthew’s body, wetted finger breaching and sliding inside him in a smooth action.
Matthew exhaled noisily and looked up into Jonah’s dark eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Fingering you,’ came the obvious, cheeky response, voice a whisper. Jonah watched his expression intently for a moment, gauging his reactions. ‘You like it?’
Matthew considered it. ‘Not certain yet.’
‘Want me to stop?’
‘No. Keep going.’
Again that beatific smile, and then, just softly, ‘Do me, too?’
When Matthew complied, he felt he’d have to reassess his understanding of the word “closeness”. He and Jonah were completely wrapped up in each other, pressed together all over, fingers within each other’s bodies, kisses sloppy as they shuddered into one another again and again until raptus caught them.
***
Matthew kissed at the scar on Jonah’s shoulder. A lazy trailing of his lips across the whitened skin as the two of them curled together in ecstasy’s wake.
‘Did ya wanna ask about it?’
‘Hm?’ Matthew looked up, realised what he’d been doing and what Jonah was asking. ‘Oh. I … Do you want me to?’
‘Doesn’t bother me.’
‘Very well. What is it like? Being shot?’
Jonah inhaled and sighed out loudly. ‘Burns like fuck. Then, it’s weird, but you kinda stop feeling it.’
‘What went through your mind?’
‘That I was gonna die.’ It was shocking, hearing Jonah say that so simply.
‘I’m sorry.’
Jonah shook his head. ‘That wasn’t the worst thing. Seeing the back of Charlie’s head come away …’
‘That must have been horrifying.’
‘And even that wasn’t the worst thing.’
Matthew frowned. ‘What could be worse?’
Jonah met his gaze a brief moment then looked away again. ‘Jonny Smith. Dead, face down in the creek. And I’m the one who did it.’
‘But what choice did you have?’
‘None. I know that. I did what I had to. Doesn’t make it better.’
Matthew kissed the scar again, just the barest brush of lips, and got out of bed. He padded through to the other room, retrieved the scotch bottle and two glasses and returned. Setting these on the dresser, he poured a few fingers of whisky into each glass and re-stoppered the bottle. Then he opened the top drawer and rummaged a moment, mainly by touch, until he came up with a small flask. Returning to the bed with flask and glasses, he passed one
to Jonah and set his own on the bedside table.
‘What’s in the flask?’ asked Jonah, taking a sip of scotch.
‘Blessed water.’
‘Holy water?’
‘Yes. From the Holy Land, in point of fact.’
Jonah regarded him quietly. ‘What are you planning?’
‘I can offer you some absolution. If you would like it. If you would accept such from me.’
‘Here? Naked, in a bed of sin?’
Matthew smiled. ‘I know you don’t believe that. So, yes, here.’ He uncapped the flask. ‘I’ll keep it short.’
Jonah looked from the open flask to Matthew, and back. Then he leaned over and put his glass of whisky on the bedside table next to Matthew’s and sat back again. ‘Alright then, Preacher. Absolve me.’
Matthew was actually surprised that Jonah was allowing it with so little persuasion, but he didn’t let it show. Just got to work, briskly blessing himself before wetting his thumb from the flask and marking a cross on Jonah’s forehead.
‘O mighty Father, we repent in earnest and are deeply sorry for these our wrongdoings. The memory of them weighs down upon us, the burden of them is too great for us to bear. Have mercy upon us, most merciful Father, in the honour and glory of your name through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.’
Jonah’s gaze was intent upon his face, watching Matthew speak the words. Belatedly, he murmured out what might have been a mumbled Amen of his own and Matthew blessed him silently.
Recapping the flask, Matthew set it on the bedside table and took up the glasses of scotch once more.
‘Is that it?’ asked Jonah.
‘I told you I’d keep it short.’ Matthew passed him back his scotch and clinked their glasses together. ‘Your health,’ he toasted.
‘And yours,’ Jonah replied, eyes never leaving Matthew’s as they drank.
Matthew had barely lowered his glass before Jonah was leaning in and kissing him, raising his free hand to Matthew’s neck and reeling him in closer. The warmth of Jonah’s large hand settled over his nape warmed him through better than even the whisky could. Long moments passed with them like that, kissing lazily. When eventually they broke apart, Jonah did not retreat far, resting his recently anointed forehead against Matthew’s, and gazing at him from close quarters.
By the Currawong's Call Page 11
